


The Adventure of the Silver Band

by HopeHazard



Series: The Problem of Surprising John Watson [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Engagement, M/M, Sequel, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:23:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3157625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopeHazard/pseuds/HopeHazard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dinner—they would be at Angelo’s. He would leave the cooking to the professionals.</p>
<p>Candles—none. He had promised John no fires, not even in the fireplace.</p>
<p>Sherlock was determined to make this Valentine’s Day infinitely better than the last… If only he could find the bloody ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a few years, but only just now got around to writing it--for that, I have to thank Maddy, otherwise this would still be in my WIP folder.

Sherlock was amazed everything was going so well. Considering the fiasco of last year’s Valentine’s Day, he’d half expected some disaster to befall them; but, so far, everything was going according to plan.

Rather than eating at home, they’d decided to go to a restaurant—Angelo’s, per John’s request. (“It’s special to us. We ought to have our one-year-anniversary there. Plus, we know the food will actually be cooked.”) And though it was slightly crowded due to the holiday, for once, Sherlock didn’t mind the chattering couples. He just used the noise as an excuse to sit closer to John, leaning in so he could be heard. (“I refuse to shout over the table at you.”) John had originally insisted that there were to be no flames anywhere near Sherlock today, but when Angelo set a candle down in the center of the table, neither of them protested. 

Since it was both an anniversary and a holiday, they’d agreed to dress up. For John, this mean black slacks that Sherlock preferred admiring from behind and a red button-up. Sherlock simply added a tie to his usual outfit (to which John pretended to faint in shock when he saw it while Sherlock rolled his eyes and feigned annoyance; it ended up being a wonderful choice, though, because John took particular pleasure in grabbing it and pulling Sherlock down for a kiss. They were nearly late for dinner, but neither of them particularly cared). 

They had finished their meal, shared a piece of cake for dessert, and were just sitting close together and talking, sipping glasses of wine, John idly playing with one of Sherlock’s hands on the table. Eventually, he yawned a little and finished off his glass. “I think I’m ready to head home. What about you?”

Sherlock nodded in agreement and straightened up, scooting away slightly. “We can do that, but first I have something I need to say…” He cleared his throat, and John looked at him expectantly, and he nearly lost his nerve. 

Sherlock had bought the ring several days ago with money he’d secretly been saving up. He was certain he’d never want to spend his life with anyone except John, but he wasn’t entirely certain John would feel the same way… One year of dating wasn’t that long. And if John rejected Sherlock, however gently he may do it, Sherlock wouldn’t be able to get the courage to ask again. 

While his inner monologue was going on, John just sighed and smiled in amusement, waiting patiently for Sherlock to come out of his head. There was clear affection and love in his eyes, and that was the only thing that made Sherlock take a breath and relax again.

“We have been together—as colleagues, friends, lovers—for some time now. You have stood by me despite many…undesirable qualities—“

“Like smoking.”

“Yes, like that. And—“

“And the violin at ungodly hours.”

“… Thank you, I know—“

“Oh, and the body parts in the fridge, and the bullet holes in the wall, and the fact that you refuse to do the shopping and—“

“Thank you, John,” Sherlock snapped. John looked back at Sherlock innocently and brought his hand up to his lips. The corners of Sherlock’s lips turned up a little, and he let out an exasperated but fond sigh. 

“As I was saying,” he continued, “Despite my apparently numerous faults, you have, due to some brain injury sustained in Afghanistan, I’m sure, stayed with me, and I have grown to appreciate that more and more as time has gone on—but particularly in the last year. At this point, I couldn’t imagine my life without you in it. When I think about myself, in the future, what I’ll be doing, where I’ll be living, what cases I’ll be taking, you are always, unquestionably, there by my side. Which is why, John Hamish Watson…” He noted the way John’s eyes widened in shock and his breath caught in his throat as he reached for his pocket—John knew what was coming.

He slipped his hand into his pocket and felt…nothing. The box wasn’t there. Panic seized him for a brief moment, but he just smiled at John and reached for his other pocket. It wasn’t there, either. Nor was it in his coat pockets when he checked there. 

Dear God, he’d lost the ring.

He was painfully aware of John’s expectant gaze, saw the second doubt started to creep into him, and felt his heart drop. He cleared his throat again and took hold of John’s hands. “Which is why I wanted to tell you how much I love you,” he said, trying to act like that was what he’d meant to say all along. “Since I know I haven’t said it perhaps as much as I should.” 

John was clearly disappointed, and a little confused, but he smiled and nodded as if it was all okay. “I love you, too.” He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock, but he could tell John’s heart wasn’t in it. 

The cab ride home was silent and tense—at least on Sherlock’s part—while he tried to mentally retrace his steps and figure out where he could have left the ring. He was certain he’d had it in his pocket all day, but it’s possible he could have dropped it… Christ, he hoped he hadn’t left it at the crime scene earlier. Perhaps it would be at the Yard—it would be easy enough to find it there.

They walked into the flat and John turned to Sherlock. “I think I’m just going to head to bed… Don’t stay up too late.” He leaned up for a quick peck, more because of habit than any actual desire to kiss him, Sherlock was sure, but he accepted it all the same and tried, in the brief contact, to convey how sorry he was. Apparently it didn’t work, because John continued on to their bedroom without another glance. 

Sighing and cursing to himself, Sherlock hurriedly ripped off his tie and replaced it with his scarf before running out of the flat again. 

\---

Several hours later, and Sherlock returned home ring-less. He’d scoured Scotland Yard first, snapping at the poor officers who were still there to get out of his way while he essentially tore the place apart, only to turn up empty-handed. His next stop had been the crime scene he and John had briefly gone to, but that proved fruitless as well. 

He collapsed on the sofa face-first and groaned. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like such a disappointment. He had, once again, managed to ruin Valentine’s Day for them. John had gone to bed alone, dissatisfied, all because Sherlock’s brain chose today of all days to fail him. There was nothing to do about it, he supposed. He would simply have to buy another ring, wait until another appropriate holiday came up. Perhaps John’s birthday? That would be sooner than Christmas, or next year’s Valentine’s Day. 

“Sherlock?”

The detective turned on his side, facing the doorway where John was standing in his pajamas. Frowning, arms crossed—he was angry. But there was something on his face that didn’t fit, something that Sherlock couldn’t quite identify. 

“Where the hell have you been? I texted and called you a dozen times.” 

He pulled out his phone and saw the notifications for the first time. “My phone was on silent,” he answered, sitting up and sighing. “You told me to turn it off when we went to dinner so we wouldn’t be interrupted.” 

“Silent isn’t off.”

“Yes, I know, but I planned on checking it if you got up to use the bathroom, or something.”

“I told you—“ John cut himself off and shook his head. “Nevermind. Anyway. You didn’t answer me—where were you?” 

Sherlock hesitated and replied carefully, “I was searching for something.”

There it was again—that look Sherlock couldn’t process. It was almost…amusement? Smugness? “Yeah? You lost something? What was it?”

“Nothing important,” he lied, standing up and finally taking off his coat and scarf. He hung them up before walking past John to the bedroom. “Let’s go to bed. You could have gone to sleep without me, you know. It’s late. Now you’re going to be cranky in the morning.” 

Upon walking through the door, he stopped. There, sitting on the center of the bed, was the ring box. Opened. Simple silver band on display. “What—“

“I found it sitting on the bathroom counter,” John said, stopping next to Sherlock. “I’m guessing this is what you went searching for?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock admitted with a sigh, going forward to pick up the box.

“I’d say that an engagement ring is pretty important, don’t you think?” 

“Yes, it is, but—“ 

“How do you lose an engagement ring? Did you just forget to put it in your pocket, like—’whoopsie daisy’.” 

“Obviously I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re supposed to be a genius, aren’t you? And you forgot an expensive ring in the bathroom?”

“John!” 

The doctor in question just broke out in a grin while Sherlock pouted and closed the distance between them, hugging Sherlock tightly and laughing. “By the way—yes.”

Sherlock returned the hug petulantly, his ego bruised by John’s teasing. “Yes what?” 

“Yes, I’ll marry you, git.”

“Oh.” Sherlock blinked rapidly in surprise. He had been hoping for this answer, obviously, otherwise he wouldn’t have bothered buying a ring in the first place, but actually hearing the words come out of John’s mouth, actually getting confirmation that John wants to marry him still startled him. “I’ll admit, I haven’t thought this far ahead,” he chuckled, almost sounding nervous.

John rolled his eyes. “A kiss would be a nice start.”

Sherlock was more than happy to comply. He leaned down and pressed their lips together, amazed that everything had gone so well.


	2. Epilogue

A year later, they married on Valentine’s Day. There were no fires, there was no uncooked pasta, nor any lost rings (John insisted on being in charge of the rings himself). Sherlock once again wore a tie, though not without a fair amount of grumbling and whining--several times John had to call Sherlock and tell him to behave after weary texts from Greg. 

It was a small ceremony, mostly for their parents’ sake; Sherlock had suggested simply eloping, but they both agreed that Mrs. Hudson wouldn’t stand for it, and God knew they owed their landlady. She was, of course, little more than a sack of tears by the end, her handkerchief thoroughly soaked. 

Their few, close friends (Anderson and Donovan were not invited) applauded as they exchanged rings and said their vows, which were filled with as many “subtle” innuendoes as Sherlock could fit in there after John bet him that he wouldn’t. John immediately regretted it and ended up red as a tomato and muttering about how Sherlock was an insufferable git and it wasn’t too late to get everything annulled; Sherlock promptly shut him up by dipping him and kissing him. 

A small reception was held at Baker Street, with the newlywed couple hanging off of each other and slowly getting drunk on wine and champagne. They missed their flight to Paris the next morning due to hangovers (and hungover morning-sex), but luckily Mycroft was able to arrange the next best thing--a cottage out in Sussex. 

“Well this is a cute place,” John commented as they pulled up to it. 

“It is,” Sherlock agreed, looking around the land surrounding the cottage. “This would be a nice place to keep bees.” 

“Yeah, maybe when we’re old and retired,” John joked, and they carried their bags inside and very promptly began enjoying their honeymoon.


End file.
